


Metro

by amorassofpixelz (orphan_account)



Series: V.5 [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Social Anxiety, a coffee shop is involved, jesse's only in it by mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 03:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11500488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/amorassofpixelz
Summary: Fic two of two; these are unfinished and (quickly) edited, I don't think I'll ever finish them but there's enough here that I feel alright posting them.





	Metro

Jack leans back in his chair, evaluating his work. The timer in the corner of his screen tells him that he’s got five minutes before the day’s over. His eyes shift back towards the sketch, proper shading cutting off halfway and giving over to rough outlines. The edges are clean; even if it’s a bit simple, the concept is solid. Not bad for his last project of the week. He saves the file and shuts off his computer. He picks up the jacket draped over the chair and steps out the door.

“Hey, Jack?” The director catches him on his way to the elevator. She clears her throat in response to the flinch she gets to her hand touching his shoulder. “Sorry. Uh, I just wanted to say... good work this week. Take it easy, alright?” She smiles at him.

“Yeah.” He gives a fake grin in return, turns, and heads out the door.

This time of year, the sun’s still up when he gets off work. He keeps his hands in his pockets, one wrapped tightly around his phone as he makes for the Metro entrance. It’s two blocks north, one east. He jogs down the steps, natural light fading as the yellow-green fluorescent bulbs glare off of the gruddy tile walls. He passes the turnstile, grabbing the card out of his pocket and swiping it through the scanner. He boards the subway. There are no seats, so he stays near the door and grabs a handhold. It’s busy, a few more people getting on after him until there’s no room left. Usually, if he’s lucky he can get on just before rush hour. Today, he was too late. He ducks his head down as the doors close, swallowing air and rolling the phone in his pocket over and over between his fingers. He has to wait three stops, just under two minutes. He presses against the seat frame to make room for a family as they leave at the first stop. He closes his eyes as the kid starts screaming at the end of the car.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

He opens his eyes. The kid is still screaming, but he can ignore it. His body shifts as the car comes to a halt at the second stop. A few more people get off, leaving him and a handful of others. He focuses on the rumble of the car, feeling it in his feet and feeling the delay as it travels up to his hand. Forty-five seconds later, it’s his stop. He gets out first, taking a deep breath as he resumes his walk. Through the turnstile again, past the security guard, and up the stairs. He takes a sharp right and walks two blocks, then turns left and walks two more. He jogs up those familiar steps and opens the door. His code to the apartment building is 4223. The light on the door turns green, and he takes the elevator. Fourth room on the right. He reaches into his back pocket, turns the key in the lock, and steps inside.

Just as soon as he’s in, he closes the door and leans back against it, turning the deadbolt with his fingers.

He’s home.

First is to undress. He pulls off his tie, unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off. He kicks off his pants and places all of his clothes on top of the washer. He steps into the bathroom and turns on the light, getting a look at himself in the rectangular mirror. A few fingers run through his hair, spiking it back a bit. He massages under his eyes, letting himself think for the first time in almost thirty minutes.

_I’m starving. I’m tired. I made it._

He blinks.

_I’m starving._

He flicks off the light and enters the small kitchen. A small tin full of even smaller packets is all there is for furnishings, save for a tall glass and a spoon.

He opens the tin and pulls out a thin, black packet. He tears it open with his teeth and dumps the contents into the glass. He brings the glass over to the sink and fills is two-thirds of the way. He returns to the counter and picks up the spoon, dipping it into the glass and stirring gently until the powder dissolves. He turns around, leaning against the counter as he takes a sip. The taste is neutral; slightly earthy, but in no way offensive. It’s easy to get familiar with.

_I’m tired._

He walks back out to the living room and sits down on the couch, downing another portion of his dinner. He picks up the remote and turns on the modest television sitting across the room. It doesn’t matter what’s on. He sets down the remote and finishes the drink. He lies down on his side and pulls the thin blanket over him. In the summer, it’s too hot for anything more than boxers, but he likes the weight of it on his body. He reaches out and picks up his phone off the table. Tomorrow, he’ll get a call from Frankie. Even though she moved last summer, she told him that it’s good to check up every week, just to see how things are going. He believes her. He flips the mute switch and places it back onto the table. He rests his head on the pillow and closes his eyes.

_I made it._

 

_\--_

 

He opens his eyes.

Food, meds, shower.

He stands, folds the blanket and drapes it over the top of the couch. He walks to the kitchen and pulls a shiny, red packet out of the tin. He washes the glass and spoon, and makes his breakfast. He chases the first sip with two white pills. The scribble on the label tells him to take one twice a day, but he figures that the burn in his stomach is better than forgetting the second before bed. He finishes the drink, this time with a slight hint of coffee to the taste. He puts the glass and spoon in the sink. He walks into the bathroom and pulls off the briefs around his waist. He steps into the shower and turns on the water, shivering until it reaches the right temperature. He closes his eyes. He puts a hand against the plastic shower wall in front of him. He lets his mind drift as his hand works up and down his shaft. He continues until he’s spent, and finishes washing himself. He steps out of the shower and grabs the neatly-folded towel off of the sink, running over his body until he’s dry. He steps out of the bathroom and grabs a pair of sweatpants off of the shelf above the washer. He pulls them on. He returns to the sink and washes the glass and spoon, placing them back on the counter beside the tin. He walks out into the living room again and sits at the end of the table, picking up his phone. He has two texts from Frankie.

_Hey_

He scrolls down.

_Call me when you’re ready_

He takes a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

He taps her photo at the top of the screen and raises the phone to his ear. She answers after the third ring.

Jack’s lips part, but it’s a few seconds before they move to speak. “Hey.”

“Morning, Jack.” Her voice is soft, encouraging. “You sleep well?”

“Yeah.” He balances the phone between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the remote and turns off the television.

“Feeling alright?”

Again, he replies in the affirmative.

“How was work this week?”

“Same as always.” He slides the phone back into his hand.

She huffs amusedly. “And… you’re doing alright?” It’s the second time she’s asked, but the meaning has shifted along with her tone.

“I’m fine.”

“Good, good. Are you going out today?”

He feels his eyes will themselves closed. “I think so, yeah.”

“The place across the street, right? The one right on the corner?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok. I can’t be there this weekend, but I think it’s good to--”

“Keep the routine.” He saw it coming a mile away.

“Yeah. I’ll be back in town next week, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Just go in, order something, and stick around if it’s not too busy.”

“Just like last time."

“Right. You’ve got this, Jack.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a few seconds of silence. “Love you, Jack.”

“You too.” He lowers the phone and hangs up.

He opens his eyes. It’s Saturday, and already past eleven. The shop’s less than thirty seconds away, and it’s never busy this late in the morning. It closes at noon to get the restaurant portion of the space prepped for later in the afternoon.

_Just go in. Order something. Stick around if it’s not too busy._

He nods to himself.

He slides his phone into his pocket and grabs the coat hanging off of the door. The mail gets delivered at four in the afternoon, so he doesn’t bother checking his box on the way out. He forgot to pick it up yesterday, but he can just grab all of it later. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and pushes the door open with his shoulder. It’s blinding, sunlight bouncing off of the pavement and forcing his eyes to squint as he checks both ways and jogs across the street. He glances quickly through the glass doors and pulls one open. A few people are scattered about the tables, but otherwise it’s empty. He walks up to the counter and waits for the only employee in sight to notice him.

“Oh, hey!” He wipes his hands on his apron and steps behind the register. “What can I get you?”

Jack’s acutely aware of the silence as he tries to clear his mind enough for a sentence to form.

“Need a minute?” His voice doesn’t carry any annoyance. His finger is stationary above the screen, ready to punch in Jack’s order from pure muscle memory.

It dawns on Jack that he hasn’t even looked at the list of drinks above the man yet. His eyes dart upwards, and he tries to pick something at random.

“Can’t decide?” He’s smiling.

“Guess not.”

“Well, what sounds good? Something sweet?”

He nods.

“Alright, hot or iced?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Alright, man. I know just the thing.” He punches the order in by heart and stops for a moment before hitting the red X in the bottom-left of the screen. When the man pulls out his wallet and holds out his card, he shakes his head. “Just take a seat. We’re basically closed anyway. It’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Oh… uh, thanks.” Jack puts it back in his pocket and surveys the room. He settles on the table in the back corner.

_Stick around if it’s not too busy._

He pulls out a chair and sits down. He takes out his phone and checks his feed. Frankie posted a couple of pictures at her family’s beach house upstate. She looks happy. He hears the whir of the blender across the shop, letting his eyes fall on the barista. He tilts his head back and forth gently, whistling something quietly to himself. Jack looks back down and clicks the button on the side of the device, putting it to sleep. He lets it drop onto the wooden table and folds his hands. He did it, and he’s here, and he’s fine. Frankie will probably tease him about it later. He looks up when he hears someone approaching him.

“Here you go, man.” He places the yellow-tinted paper cup down in front of Jack and hesitates before turning around. “Everything alright?”

Jack wraps his hand around the cup, feeling the warmth as it travels down his fingers. “Yeah.”

“I thought I recognized you… you come here pretty often, right?”

That familiar wall builds just behind Jack’s eyes, that familiar pressure of an empty mind. He wants to speak. He wants to make conversation. He can’t.

“Not in the mood, huh?” The barista laughs gently. “Maybe next time.”

Jack watches him leave, feels that self-hatred wake the fuck up and start banging on his door.

_One. Two Three. Four. Five._

He opens his eyes.

The man is back behind the counter. He grabs a towel and starts wiping down the equipment.

Jack brings the cup to his nose and inhales. It smells sweet, and dark. He can’t see the color of the liquid through the small mouthpiece on the plastic lid, but he guesses it’s hot chocolate.

_How did you fuck that up._

He grabs his phone, shoves it in his pocket, and makes for the door. Look both ways, cross the street, punch in his code, jog up the stairs, unlock the door, and step inside. Lean back against the door, count to five, turn the deadbolt. It’s eight steps to the kitchen, but he doesn’t know why he’s there. The pills? No, he took those already. The desire to take more crosses his mind, tugging at the muscles in his hand.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

This hasn’t happened since last spring. He can always control it. He can always stop it before it gets bad.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

His jaw tenses. He needs to scream, smash something, get it out somehow. Or it’ll get worse.

_One. Two. Three. Four._

_Fuck._

_“FUCK!”_ He bangs his fist on the counter, letting the pain that shoots up his arm fill the need.

He opens his eyes.

His stretches his fingers out, turns his hand over. Studies how the skin moves over bone.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

It gets better. The world isn’t ending. He can breathe. He’ll have to put it on ice. If it bruises, people ask questions.

_One. Two. Theee. Four. Five._

Jamie will be back in a couple days. If he asks, she’ll probably come over before next weekend.

She’ll smile at him, ask him how he is. He’ll tell her everything is fine. They’ll go somewhere, and she’ll talk, only stopping when he wants to speak.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

He couldn’t talk to the barista. It wasn’t like usual, though. It wasn’t the same feeling. Or, it _was,_ but there was something else on top of it. He didn’t get pissed at him, or try to make small talk after noticing Jack’s silence. He was… nice.

He can’t go back there.

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose.

_One. Two._

He notices that the paper cup is still sitting beside him, untouched. He dumps it in the sink. It is hot chocolate. He walks back to the living room and sits down on the couch. He turns on the television. It doesn’t matter what’s on. He takes out his phone and puts it on the table. He pulls the blanket over him and lies down on his side. He closes his eyes, ignores the sting of tears and lets the white noise drown out his thoughts.

He has to go back.

It’s crowded on Sundays.

But he can do it.

Walk in, wait in line, pick something off the menu, rehearse it. Get to the counter, tell him your order. Hand him your card. Take it back. Find a seat. Wait for him to come over. Thank him. If he tries to make small talk again, man the fuck up and say something back. Finish your drink. Go home.

He takes a deep breath.

He can do it.

 

\--

 

Jack skips breakfast and heads straight for the door. It’s barely past 10, and he knows the cafe’s gonna be crowded. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. He realizes he’s forgotten to pick up his mail for the third day on his way out. He crosses the street and enters the building.

The hum of people typing and speaking quietly amongst themselves is nice compared to the rush of traffic and loud conversations outside. There’s no one in line, so he walks up to the counter and rings the bell. The same man from yesterday turns his head away from the grinder and grins widely as he walks over. Another man walks out of the kitchen and replaces one of the bottles of flavored syrup stacked against the wall.

“It’s you again!” He starts a new order and looks back up. “So. Anything look good?”

Jack makes an effort to stand up straight. “Yeah, uh… just a latte.” His voice breaks a little, but the nod the barista gives him in response is comforting. He taps away at the screen.

“Any sugar?”

“Yeah.” He feels a smile creep up on him. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Just the drink?”

Jack nods.

“Alright, that’ll be four bucks.” He takes the man’s card and swipes it. “It’ll be out in a minute.”

Jack takes it back and turns around. All the tables are full, so he walks up to the bar against the window and takes a seat. His phone buzzes and asks him if he wants to add a tip to his purchase. He taps the notification and sends another $4 before putting it back on the counter. People walk by the window in a steady stream. He can feel that discomfort in the base of his throat, but he tells himself that they’re just people, that they’re all feeling the same things he is. Today is supposed to be good.

“Hey.”

Jack’s head snaps toward the voice, and he smiles, embarrassed, when the barista puts down his drink. “Thanks.” He swallows as the man leans over the chair next to him, arms crossed.

“You doing alright, man?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You seemed pretty spooked yesterday. Didn’t know if something was going on.”

_Why does he care?_

“Just… tired.”

“You wanna talk about it?” He points a finger back at the counter. “Jess can hold the fort for a bit. I just see you here a lot, and I try to get to know my regulars. Try to look out for them, y’know?” He laughs. “Even if it’s just with a good cup of coffee in the morning.”

Jack isn’t sure what to do. The very absence of that familiar anxiety right now is off-putting. Something about the man is easy to trust.

“Uh, sure. Why not.” He puts his phone back into his pocket and wraps both hands around the cup.

“Cool.” He flips the barstool around and straddles it, looking out the window.

“You work here long?” It feels like the kind of thing you would ask.

“About three years now. Started out as a temporary thing, didn’t expect to like it as much as I did.” He gestures a sort of shrug.

“Huh.” Jack takes a sip of the latte. It’s sweet, but still bitter.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Jack nods. “Not much of a people person, I guess.” Words are coming easier and easier. This is good.

“Is that why you were nervous yesterday?”

“Yeah,” he admits.

“Did you break up with your girlfriend?”

Jack almost spits out the drink. “My _what?”_

He leans back, chuckling. “Sorry. I just assumed that the girl you’re usually with--”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Jack huffs at the thought.

“That’s cool.” He drums his fingers on the counter. “My bad.”

“It’s fine.” Jack wants to keep the conversation going, wants to keep hearing his voice. But it’s already declining. That wall is creeping back up. He notices the man shifting nervously in his seat.

“I should probably get back to work. See you tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah.” He finishes the drink and tosses it in the bin under the counter.

“Alright. Take it easy, man.”

Jack’s whole body tenses when the barista pats his shoulder, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice. He takes a second to recover before hopping off the stool and making for the exit. He catches the man’s friendly wave before pushing open the door.

 

Jack throws the mail down onto the table and undresses in silence. He throws the clothes in the wash and turns to knob to run it. He steps into the bathroom and looks in the mirror. He’s still smiling, the expression admittedly unfamiliar on his face. His cheeks feel warm, slightly pink. The man’s demeanour was so inviting, it made Jack almost forget where they were for a few moments. His smile was nothing but genuine, lacking any of the lazy, pity-riddled flexing of muscles that Jack knows all too well. He’d agreed to come back without the usual fuckload of reasons _not_ to flooding his brain before he had a chance to speak.

He realizes that his dick is straining against his boxers, pressing up against the cold porcelain sink. He sees himself blush in the mirror.

_Jack Morrison, I think you have a crush._

He steps back and reaches into his boxers, pulling it free and jerking himself off. He’s gone so long without doing it out of anything but necessity that he’s biting his thumb and making a mess over the sink in no time.

_God._

Even this had become routine. He can still feel the glow of pleasure as he leans over the sink and runs the tap, washing away whatever didn’t get caught on his hand. He looks back into the mirror and he’s really blushing now, embarrassed grin across his face.

He pulls his boxers back up and steps into the living room. He turns on the television and finds the guide, scrolling through it until he finds something worth watching and switching to it.

 _Worth watching_ might be a stretch, but what matters is that he’s paying attention to it. He _wants_ to watch it. He pulls the blanket over himself and grabs his phone off of the table, setting the alarm for tomorrow before he forgets.

He leans back, utterly satisfied.

_This is progress._

 

\--

 

Jack’s hand fumbles for his phone with his eyes still closed. He eventually finds it and shuts off the alarm, groaning.

_I get to see him again._

He sits up and pulls on his uniform. He grabs his phone and leaves his apartment.

“Hey!” The barista’s face lights up when he sees Jack walk in. “Latte?”

Jack steps up to the counter. “Yeah.”

“Coming right up.” He takes Jack’s card, scans it, and hands it back.

Jack takes a seat at the table closest to the counter. He leaves his phone in his pocket, watching the man prepare his drink.

“You’re in here early. Got work?”

Jack nods.

The barista tops off his drink and walks out to the table.

“I’m Gabriel, by the way. Guess I should’ve mentioned that before.”

“Jack.” He takes the cup and watches Gabriel smile. _God,_ it’s nice to look at.

“I like it. Short for anything?” He checks for customers before leaning on the table and crossing his arms.

“No, just… Jack.” He takes a sip of the coffee. It’s sweeter than yesterday’s. He licks his lips and sets it back down. The weight of Gabriel is tilting the table slightly, but he seems confident in its strength. “Do people call you Gabe?”

“Some.” He stands up as someone walks in. He turns his head quickly, adding “Only guys who tip a hundred percent” before walking back behind the register.

Jack can feel his cheeks betray him, but that doesn’t stop the smile from forming anyway. He watches Gabriel take a short woman’s order, putting on that grin and somehow finding a way to make conversation out of ‘Small chai latte, to go please.’

He looks down shyly when she turns and finds a place to sit. He takes another sip of the drink and closes his eyes. Right now, between the coffee warming his body, the smell of baked goods just out of the oven, and Gabriel’s humming, he feels almost as comfortable as he does at home. He can’t help himself from smiling yet again when Gabriel hands her the tea and walks back over, resuming his position.

“So, Jack. What do you do for work?”

He sets the cup down. “Blaze.”

Gabriel turns his head down and to the left, getting a better look at the man. “You mean, like, at one of their stores?”

“No…” He laughs quietly to himself. “I’m a designer.”

Gabriel stands up straight, eyebrows lifting on his face. “No kidding. So if I went to the one down the street right now, I could buy something you designed?”

Jack scoffs. “Well, no. Most of the concepts get scratched, and even then, it goes through a billion hands before it’s even considered for production.” He’s amazed at how naturally the words are leaving his mouth.

“That’s still pretty cool.” He looks down and checks his watch. “When do you have to go?”

Jack pulls out his phone and balks at the time. “Shit- I gotta go.” He stands in a panic. “Sorry.”

Gabriel just chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. We can finish next time.” He walks over and reaches over the counter, grabbing a donut and holding it out. “Here.”

Jack takes it in his free hand and knows he has to be beet red. “Thanks, Gabriel.” He gets another look at the man’s smile before rushing back outside.

-

“Jack, are you _eating?”_ The director’s standing outside his door, looking a bit bewildered at the pastry halfway in his mouth, both arms pressed on the screen below him.

He looks over sheepishly, shrugging in response.

“Well, I guess that’s a good sign. Anyways, Nathan wants more orange from here on. He wants a head-start on the fall collection, so he’s thinking blazers, sweaters, that kinda thing.”

 _“Mmhm.”_ He keeps inking in the details, body still riding off of the unusual uptick in endorphins.

“Cool. See you at the meeting.”

He barely notices her leave the room. His hand is seemingly moving on its own, filling in the gaps and drawing curves that would’ve usually taken a few tries before perfecting. If this is what _normal_ feels like, he sure as hell could get used to it.

 

“Jasmine, the curves on this are great. Seriously. This might already be ready for drafting. And Yvette,” Nathan folds the paper back on the easel to reveal another sketch, “Great work incorporating the pattern _here_.” He grabs a marker and circles over the middle-third of the dress. “The hip should probably be a touch higher, but otherwise, I love it.” He folds the paper again to reveal Jack’s concept. “Morrison, since when do you go all-out with this kind of gradient?” He laughs. “I don’t know where that kind of confidence came from, but I expect to see more of it from here on.”

Jack leans back in his chair. The director gives him a look of approval across the table.

“So all three of you, great work. You’re cleared to start on a detailed render, and we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Good?”

The three of them stand and leave the room. Jack returns to his office and closes the door behind him. Instead returning to his desk, he walks over to the floor-to-ceiling window and gazes out onto the street, two dozen floors below him. From up here, the people aren’t so bad. Just tiny, shifting bodies, going god knows where. He presses his hands against the pane and leans into it, feeling the sun’s heat as it radiates through it. He hasn’t used the office lights once since he started working here; he prefers the natural light that the window offers, white and soft as it hits his skin. His phone buzzes, and he knows it’s Jamie. He takes a step back from the window. The fog around where his hands had been fades after a couple seconds, and the glass remains as clear as ever.

_Bzzzzzt_

He turns around and scoops his phone up off of his desk.

_I got back early_

_Wanna hang?_

His thumbs dance across the keyboard.

_My place?_

She takes a minute to respond.

_Sure._

He grins.

_Eight?_

She agrees.

Jack puts it back down and glances at the clock above his desk. He’s got thirty minutes to kill before work’s over.

 

The one upside to having basically no material possessions is that you don’t need to clean anything up if you’re having guests. Not that it’d bother either him or Jamie - she’s the one person he knows would actually _like_ to see some signs that he’s actually been living there.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this started out as an experiment writing some of the issues I struggle with into a character, and after getting tired of how shitty these characters are treated in canon, I decided to make it an au and flesh it out a bit more. Again, these are unfinished and quickly edited; I don't know if I'll ever add more to this, but it was actually pretty cathartic to write and totally Not Projecting At All.
> 
> If you like this (or even feel like being a beta and helping it potentially finish?), feel free to message me on twitter or tumblr or whatever.
> 
> I always love feedback/hate/etc.
> 
> -
> 
> if you like my work and want to toss me some change/see what i'm into, check out my tumblr: [deadpixelz](http://deadpixelz.tumblr.com)


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